Curious Grins
by Undertaker's Madness
Summary: Curious about the volatile redhead that once buried him in salt, the Undertaker begins to spy on him. Upon noticing Grell's savagery and addiction to blood when he reaps, the mortician takes it upon himself to make an offer that could safeguard Grell's career and perhaps even form a bond between the two of them. Takes place after "Into the Black". Yaoi. Slightly AU.


"Curious Grins"

A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) Undertaker/Grell fanfic

**_Author's note: _**_This ficlet follows my Undertaker ficlet: "Into the Black". Dedicated to my RP partner Daredreemer for playing such an awesome Grell and coming up with some of the most interesting plot twists and turns I've ever seen._

**_Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only_**.

~xox~

* * *

He crouched low on the bank's rooftop, quietly watching the crimson reaper at work. What Grell lacked in technique, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. He was too rough with them, though. That sort of vigor was an example of how _not_ to reap, and it was because of that sort of viciousness that he had become the twisted creature he now was. He shook his head, the cascade of lustrous silver hair falling down his back swishing with the motion.

"What are they teaching these younguns, these days?" he muttered under his breath. "Too rough, lovely. You're too rough with them."

Of course, the reaper he was spying on had only been given his custom death scythe back fairly recently. Grell Sutcliff was practically infamous for letting his passion for blood drive him into a frenzy. The Undertaker could appreciate that; after all, he held a special fascination for death and the dead. As a reaper that frequently waltzed with his "clients" whilst listening to the whispers of their departing spirits, he tried not to judge. His ability to understand the dead was uncontested, and it made him the best coroner in London—if not the world. The Yard always came to him for autopsies when they had a murder case to solve, and the Phantomhives likewise relied on his expertise whenever the Queen charged them with a case as well.

He was good at his job, and he did it with enthusiasm. He could empathize with the wild bloodletter on the street below, even though he felt like wincing every time he watched him draw the cinematic records from his assignments with his scythe. He could feel the latest victim's trauma, even from this distance, and he wondered if Dispatch had already forgotten the danger in allowing its agents to employ such wanton violence in their tasks.

A ray of late afternoon sunshine peeked through the overcast skies above, and it gleamed on Grell's vivid hair. The mortician smiled in spite of himself and admired the highlights. His vision had improved on its own at an astonishing rate, once he'd put down his glasses. He knew it wasn't normal; any other reaper would be stumbling about half-blind without his or her glasses, but the Undertaker wasn't a typical Shinigami. He owed his perfected vision to the entity he housed within him, but nobody knew just how well he could see. He had never parted with the secret; allowing his peers—and his opponents—to believe he was blind as a bat.

Of course, to maintain the illusion he'd had to learn how to rely on his other senses. He couldn't very well chastise other reapers for relying too much on their eyes if he did the same, himself. Years of practice with blindfolds had taught him to fight just as well blind as he did with full use of his peepers, and that came in handy after growing his bangs so long that they covered his eyes completely. Humans tended to notice his double irises whenever they caught a glimpse of them, and it was easier to keep them concealed beneath his hair whilst living amongst them.

Grell finished the job with a shark-toothed smile, looking utterly satisfied as he wiped the blood from his face with a handkerchief he'd produced from his vest. There was something engaging about that smile—almost sensual. It was rather like he'd just enjoyed a good shag.

_~You aren't watching him to evaluate his reaping skills,_~ whispered a sibilant voice in the mortician's head, ~_You fancy him. Or is it a 'her'? We can't really tell._~

Undertaker frowned. "Shut it."

The demonic entity chuckled. ~_Have we touched a nerve? You've been spying on this one for some time now. You cannot hide the truth behind your curiosity from us, Khronos. We feel what you feel._~

"You'll feel my boot up your collective bum if you don't stop chattering," he warned, focusing inwardly. "I've held up my end of the bargain. Go back to sleep."

~_But you aren't holding up your part of the bargain,_~ accused the demon. ~_The evidence is before us. That red-headed creature is proof that your organization has lapsed in the training you insisted on. They'll repeat the mistakes of the past, if you allow this reaper to continue his massacre unchecked. He is a mentor, is he not? He will teach others to employ the same savagery, and when it spreads, you will not be around to absorb the next Death Specter they create with their careless brutality._~

The ancient sighed. The being he'd been carrying since that fateful day he retired was made up of vengeful souls...a collective of angry spirits that grew in strength until they combined into a single demonic entity. Born of the death agony of humans reaped too violently, the corruption spread in the Great Library until it escaped with one goal: to destroy the Shinigami agents that had unwittingly given birth to it. Undertaker managed to contain it when it sought to possess him and use him like it had used some of his associates.

He couldn't credit his own will and inner strength for his ability to merge with it; rather, it was how he was made that enabled him to do it. He was an original; a reaper created not from a dying mortal, but from nothingness. That significant difference between himself and the other reapers possessed by the specter was what kept it from taking him over and allowed him to trap it. Now he was merged with it, possibly forever. Just as he could sense the desires and thoughts of the dead, the entity within him could sense his feelings. There was no escaping that, but he supposed his passenger was right. Sutcliff was a threat. Ever since he'd gone rogue and terrified London with his lady friend in the Ripper incidents, his lust for blood seemed insatiable and he reaped mortals like a shark tearing into hapless prey.

Dispatch thought him more or less reformed, but when they weren't watching, the Undertaker was and he saw how Sutcliff handled his assignments when he thought nobody was watching. Perhaps he wasn't reckless enough to demonstrate such aggression in front of his trainees just yet, but chances were it would eventually get the better of him and he'd set a very bad example for impressionable young reapers that looked up to him.

The Undertaker sighed again, even as he perked up inwardly at the thought of interacting with the pretty crimson treat he'd been spying on. He had to admit that ever since he'd let Grell bury him in salt, he'd been curious about him. What would it be like to have an encounter with him that didn't involve fighting or identity theft?

A mortician's work was never done. A white-toothed grin manifested on his lips.

~xox~

* * *

"What a loathsome man you were," announced Grell Sutcliff to the now empty shell he'd just finished reaping. "I believe you'll be going to Hell, in fact...but that isn't up to my gorgeous self to decide."

He shut the book and banished it, along with his bloodied scythe. He heard the whistles of the London Police, and he listened to the shocked cries of the mortals that witnessed his target's collapse. They couldn't see Grell, of course; he was cloaked from mortal view. With a delicate shrug, the crimson reaper replaced his soiled handkerchief and stepped casually over the body sprawled on the cobblestones. His job was done. The mortals could take care of the rest in their own way. He turned at the library, deciding to check in to his favorite London hotel for the night, get cleaned up and order gratuitous amounts of room service. He'd had a good week and he thought a lady deserved a reward for such diligent work. He didn't need to turn in his collections until morning, so he could enjoy the rest of the night.

He buttoned up the coat he'd procured from Madam Red to conceal the blood spotting his clothing, thankful that the garment didn't stain easily and blended somewhat with the russet stains. He located the hotel of his choice at an intersection, and he dropped the cloak masking him from mortal detection and went inside to book a room for the night. The only one available was on the top floor—which was just fine by him. He paid for it, got the key and took the elevator up.

"Ahh, much better," he sighed as he entered his room for the night and removed his coat. He closed and locked the door behind him and he removed his jacket. Now that the blood lust had been sated and he could see the splatters on his clothing, he frowned. He needed to get them off and put them in cold water, before the blood could set and stain. He adored the color of blood when it was fresh, but it turned into an ugly rust color when dried and it wouldn't do for William to see him returning to work in such a state. A slow grin on his face, revealing his pointed teeth. He did have a personal assistant for such things, after all.

He retrieved his Dispatch phone from his pocket and he dialed a number on it. A sleepy voice picked up on the other end. "Mmm, h'llo?"

"Ronnie," answered Grell, "I have some dry cleaning for you to pick up for me later tonight."

The blond grumbled under his breath. "Wha? I'm still on the clock!"

"There's no rush," assured Grell. "I'm going to soak it for a while and have a bath. You can come by my hotel room and get it after you've clocked out for the night. Be a dear and stop by my flat on the other side after you leave Headquarters. I'll need a fresh set to wear tomorrow for work."

"Are ya kidding me?"

Grell smirked. "Now, now...don't get snarky with me, or I'll tell Chilly Willy that you've been napping on the clock again. I presume you're in my office?"

The younger reaper sighed. "It was just a short one, Senpai. Fine, I'll do it. Hope I don't end up late for the party I'm going to after work."

"All you need to do is drop the soiled clothes off at the usual place," said the crimson reaper with a shrug. "I can pick them up on my lunch break tomorrow."

"You're going to get in trouble again, if you aren't more careful," predicted Ronald sullenly.

Grell's brows arched. "Words of caution from a reckless pup like you? Don't make me laugh, darling. Now write down this address and room number. I shall see you when you get off work."

He got no further arguments from Knox, and he gave him his location before hanging up. Satisfied, Grell disrobed and put his soiled garments in the sink, before plugging it and filling it with cold water. He pinned his hair up with practiced skill and ran himself a bath, humming a romantic tune to himself as he sat on the edge of the tub in the complimentary bath robe and waited for it to fill up. Dipping his fingers into the heated, steaming water, he sighed. The dreamy look of content bled from his fair features like the life had bled from his latest acquisition, and his scarlet brows hedged over troubled, green-gold eyes.

He'd started to fantasize about sharing a bath with someone again. His thoughts always meandered down romantic avenues when he bathed—especially after a good reaping. How long had it been since he'd been held by a man...kissed by a man...made _love_ to by a man? The last time he could recall was after he and William had both been promoted to officer status. His frustration over his failure to draw the brunet's affections stung him, and though he never lost hope that William might one day take the stick out of his bum and stop denying him, he realized that it might be a long, lonely wait. He'd picked up a mortal with the appropriate desires at a symphony and spent the night in his bed, after that realization. He was gone by morning, refreshed by the encounter and feeling more confident in himself. He couldn't even recall the man's name, when he thought back on that night.

Of course, his satisfaction didn't last for very long. Every time he saw Will at work, he was brutally reminded of that which he wanted but seemed to be forever out of his reach. Then there was Bassy—his beautiful raven. He was another one that denied the attraction between them, though Grell suspected the demon's occasional flirtations were just a means to toy with him and amuse himself. Why couldn't the men in his life appreciate what he had to offer? Why did he always pick the cold, distant ones? What he wouldn't give to ease into this extravagant bathtub with either one of them and just kiss, caress and soak there until they were pickled.

His mind went to another man whom he'd discovered an unexpected attraction to: The Undertaker. He thought he was a creepy old loon at first, but there was something about him that drew Grell, nonetheless. At first he thought it was just the hair. Grell usually went for more clean-cut men, but there was something compelling about that glorious mane of silver. Then there were those eyes; he'd impulsively lifted the man's bangs out of his face when he found out he was the legendary reaper, disbelieving William's claims. Undertaker hadn't stopped him...merely grinned at him when he did it. Seeing his whole face un-obscured had been quite a shock to Grell. The man was downright beautiful beneath that mop of hair, and those silver-lashed eyes of his drew him in. Why would anyone hide such beautiful eyes from the world?

Grell shook himself out of his daydreams. "Surely I'm deprived," he muttered, stepping into the tub and easing into the heated water slowly. He sighed as he adjusted to the temperature, and he relaxed against the walls of the tub. "Thinking romantic thoughts about that mad old creep...I must be lonelier than I suspected!"

Still, that mad old creep bore the timeless visage of an angel, beneath the concealing fringe of hair. He certainly didn't look as old as he was, but then most reapers appeared no older than thirty. It was the eyes that gave away the age. The ones that lived the longest carried wisdom in their gazes. Pops was one of the only old ones that looked a day over thirty, and there was much speculation amongst the younger generation as to why he looked older than everyone else. Grell just thought that time eventually left its mark on him like it would a mortal, but others believed he'd retained his age appearance upon being raised as a reaper. Whatever the reason, he was one of the few elder Shinigami whose physical appearance matched his eyes and the aura of power around him.

"I certainly hope I don't eventually grow lines and wrinkles," sighed the redhead as he reached for the soap and began to lather the bathing sponge. "How unsightly that would be for a lady like myself."

He enjoyed a long, leisurely soak and when the water began to cool, he reluctantly got out and dried off. Donning the complimentary robe again, he walked out of the bathroom...to find an uninvited guest draped comfortably across the armchair in the main room. Grell blurted an indignant yelp of surprise, eyes going wide behind his red-framed glasses. He impulsively hugged himself in a display of modesty.

"Just what in the hell are _you_ doing in here, you spooky old fiend?"

~xox~

* * *

Undertaker smiled brightly at his unwilling host, finding him delightfully feminine looking in the soft white bathrobe, with his crimson locks piled up carelessly and his glasses still slightly steamed from his bath. "Hi, hi. I invited myself in, of course. Lovely room you have here, Miss Sutcliff."

Grell blushed in response to being referred to by a feminine title. "Don't toy with me, you...you interloper! I had that door locked completely, with the chain on!"

"Never said I came in through the door." The mortician nodded toward the open window. "It was quite a climb, my dear, but it was good exercise for an old bloke like me."

Grell looked at the window, his shock fading into frustration. "Of all the nerve! Do I need to bury you in salt again, you old creep?"

The mortician chuckled behind his hand. "Now, now. I think we'd both enjoy that a bit too much. I'm here for your own benefit, my dear." He dropped his hand from his lips and displayed his straight, white teeth in a brilliant smile. "You've gotten too careless and too vigorous with your reapings. Dispatch will surely notice sooner or later, and even if they don't, you stand to corrupt the library with your antics."

Grell paled a bit, but he refused to be intimidated. "You're out of your head, old man. I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

"Playing coy, are we?" The Undertaker nodded at the pile of bloodstained clothing in the bathroom sink, visible through the open door. "Most reapers don't even draw blood when they collect their records if they've been properly trained, and you've been with Dispatch long enough to know how to do it right. Unless you've started menstruating copiously, I don't think you can account for all those stains."

Grell's cheeks flooded with color. "Oh, you are _vile_. I'll have you know that my bodily functions are none of your concern—"

"You know it isn't biologically possible for you to—"

"Shut _up_," snapped the redhead, fuming now. "Whether I could or not is not the issue! A gentleman would never discuss a lady's private functions!"

The mortician shrugged, still smiling. "Good thing I'm no gentleman, then. I'm a creepy old fiend, remember? How could a humble old mortician like me know any better?"

Grell pursed his lips with annoyance. "I don't know what game you're trying to play, but I'm done with you. Get out of my room this instant, or I shall do worse than bury you in salt!"

There was a knock at the door, interrupting whatever response was about to issue from the Undertaker's lips. "Senpai, I'm here," Ronald's voice called from the other side. "I've got your clothes."

The mortician pushed his bangs aside and raised his sculpted brows at Grell as he took off his hat. "Going to answer that or not, my dear? Don't mind me."

"Get...out."

Undertaker grinned, tossing his hat carelessly across the room to land on the bed. He shook his head and steepled his hands, tapping his nails together. "I'm afraid I can't do that just yet, love. Does your little friend know about your problem, I wonder? Seems odd he'd come to a London hotel with a change of clothes for you out of the blue."

"I...I asked him to bring them," said Grell, his spine stiffening and his hands planting on his narrow hips. "I just needed a fresh outfit to put on for work tomorrow. Not that it's any of your concern."

"Hey Senpai, are ya in there or not?" Ronald called impatiently. "I've got places to be and your other clothes aren't gonna dry-clean themselves!"

"Oh, so he's doing your dry cleaning." Undertaker nodded with interest. "Funny, that. I suppose you could tell him you cut yourself while out reaping and you've already healed up. Is that the story you're giving him, Miss Sutcliff?"

"Yes, that's the story I've given him," answered Grell hastily. "Now if you don't mind, I have things to do that don't involve sitting around playing mind games with some stale old deserter."

The mortician made no move to leave. "You know if they find out he's been helping you cover it up, they'll charge him too. Abetting criminal behavior is almost as bad as committing it yourself, in the eyes of Dispatch. If he's lucky they'll only confiscate his death scythe and put him on probation. I hear your supervisor isn't given to mercy when his underlings misbehave, though."

"You claim to know an awful lot about the workings of an organization you abandoned, sir," huffed Grell. He started to say more, but Ronald banged on the door again.

"Come on, Senpai! I can't stand out here all night!"

With a sigh, the redhead went to the door to answer it. The Undertaker watched the sway of his hips, and he admired the curve of his bottom. When Grell paused to give him a scathing look over his shoulder, the ancient took his eyes off of his derriere and he gave him a benign smile. "Something on your mind, my dear?"

Grell's angry expression softened, fading into confused suspicion as he studied his face. "Were you just...no...no of course not. You couldn't see that far without glasses, could you?"

The Undertaker's brows furrowed in an honest enough expression of puzzlement. "See what that far, love? I'm not following you."

_~Oh, you're going to play this game, are you? We must admit, you are good at pretending innocence.~_

"Shut it," muttered the Undertaker out the corner of his mouth.

Grell's brows went up. "No, I will not 'shut it', thank you. You are in my hotel room...uninvited! Just you wait; as soon as Ronnie leaves, I'm going to deal with you." He smiled wickedly at him, another blush spreading over his fair cheeks as he eyed the older reaper up and down. "Oh yes...you've earned my special attention, old fool. I rather hope you don't attempt to run away before I've finished making the exchange with Knox, but I could hardly blame you if you did."

Grell blew him a kiss before turning back to the door and opening it to admit his companion.

~xox~

* * *

Ronald gave his mentor a dry smirk when he finally opened the door to let him in. "About time!" He handed the bundle of fresh clothes over to the robed redhead. "Now where are the messy ones? I've got to get going?"

"I'll get them," assured Grell. "You'll have to excuse my guest...he wasn't invited. In fact, this bathrobe I'm wearing is about to become just as stained as my clothes. I'm about to take such great delight in teaching that fossil a thing or two about barging into a lady's room without invitation!"

Ronald just stared at him, his young face the very picture of confusion. "Uh, who are you talking about?"

"The Undertaker, of course," huffed Grell, tucking his fresh clothing under an arm so that he could put a hand on his hip. "He's right—"

He turned around to find his guest gone. Even the hat was gone. "—there. Oh, I seem to have frightened him off." Grell pouted, unreasonably disappointed. "Who knew the old geezer had such a weak constitution? I hadn't even touched him yet!"

Ronald scratched his head. "Are you feeling okay, Grell?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

The blond looked beyond him into the room. "I dunno...it just doesn't look like anyone else was in here. How did he leave?"

"I imagine he left through the same bloody window he snuck in through," answered the redhead. "Why, are you insinuating that I was just imagining him here?"

"Well, no," Ronald hastily said, grimacing. "It's just you've still got therapy to get through and I know sometimes you talk to that lady you reaped like she's right next to you. The one that uh...partnered with you for the um...Ripper thing."

Ronald was shrinking in on himself, growing obviously more uncomfortable by the second. Grell sighed. Were it anyone else, he might be miffed. He couldn't stay angry with Ronnie for long, though. He reached out and stroked his hair. "Listen to me, darling; yes, I do sometimes talk to Angelina when I'm feeling lonely or sad. It doesn't matter whether she can hear me or talk back; it's comforting to me. I did reap her, but I loved her, as well. That doesn't mean I see people that don't exist. The Undertaker was here in my hotel room when I came out of the bathroom. He told me he climbed in through the window. I didn't just imagine him."

"But what did he want with you?" Ronald cast one more suspicious look around the room. "What did he do, just follow you to the hotel and decide to climb up for a visit?"

"So it seems, Ronnie." Grell waved a negligent hand. "Well, he's gone now and he was just babbling nonsense like usual. Perhaps he got bored with the company of the dead and happened to see me on the street...who knows?"

"You sure you want to stay here alone? Maybe you ought to just go home tonight."

"I've already paid for this room," insisted Grell, "and I intend to make full use of the room services and spoil myself a bit. Don't worry darling; I can take care of myself. If the old creep comes back, I'll deal with him."

Ronald shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "If you say so. Got those dirty clothes for me?"

Grell nodded and went across the room to the bathroom to procure them. He put his fresh clothes on the counter and he bundled up the ones in the sink, wrapping them in a hotel towel to avoid getting any of the drying blood on himself or Ronald. The boy lingered in the doorway and took the bundle from him with a little frown.

"You've got to stop doing this, Senpai. You know I won't tell on you, but Spears-senpai is going to catch on eventually."

Grell lowered his gaze. "I know." He smiled at Ronald again. "I'll try to be more careful. Don't worry."

With a sigh, the younger reaper knotted the towel and slung the bundle over his shoulder. "I guess I'll go drop these off now. If that spook comes back and you need me, call."

"I'll be fine. Now shoo." Grell gave him a playful swat on the bottom and ushered him out the door.

"That boy," he sighed after Knox created a portal and left the mortal realm. "What a worrier!"

He closed the door—and found the Undertaker standing behind it with his hat in his hands, grinning down at him.

~xox~

* * *

Grell's second yelp of surprise gratified the retired reaper, and he chuckled softly. "Thought I'd gone out the window, did you? Surprise!"

Grell composed himself with visible effort, smoothing his bathrobe with his hands. "It takes more than anything _you_ can do to frighten me, you towering lurker!"

Undertaker dropped his hat and reached out abruptly, putting one arm around Grell's waist and laying the other over his chest, where the material of the robe parted in a V. "Oh? Your heart's pounding mightily fast for someone that's not alarmed, my dear."

The redhead swallowed, and his heart beat even harder beneath the mortician's palm. "Unhand me."

Finding his behavior peculiar, the Undertaker declined. "I took you as a reaper that would make me unhand you, rather than ask." That delightful pink blush was back, and Grell's breath had quickened. Perhaps it wasn't fear that made his heart race. It was an interesting thought.

The older reaper shook his bangs out of his eyes and locked his gaze with Grell's. "Is it the prospect of bleeding me that makes you so excited, darlin'?"

"I adore the thought of bleeding you," admitted the redhead, his uncertainly suddenly vanishing. The shark's smile from before returned, displaying rows of pointed teeth. He reached up to trace the scar circling the Undertaker's throat, surprising the ancient a bit. "Such lovely scars. You must have bled heavily when they were given to you."

"Moderately," agreed the Undertaker. Now _his_ heart was pounding faster. The delicate touch felt nice, even though the threatening glint in the redhead's long-lashed eyes promised pain. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to touch him so familiarly, and as Grell's painted red nails caressed the puckered scar tissue, the Undertaker found himself forgetting what he'd come to do in the first place.

"Hmm." Grell reached up with the other hand and he combed the silvery bangs aside further, getting them completely out of the way so that he could gaze upon the ancient's sculpted, battle-marked features in full. "You know, you really are exceptionally handsome—even with the scars. You must have had scores of ladies swooning at your feet before you donned the mantle of the creepy old funeral director."

"Ladies...and some gents," admitted the Undertaker, his voice deepening and going slightly husky. "Things have changed."

"Clearly," sighed Grell. He traced a nail over the scar on his throat again, and the vicious glint returned to his eyes. His nail dug in, cutting the pale flesh and making the Undertaker tense up...yet the older reaper didn't push away or try to stop him. Grell stopped when he'd produced a trickle of blood, and he searched his eyes. "You aren't even going to defend yourself?"

The Undertaker felt a distinct swelling in his pants, beneath his layered black garments. "When I feel sufficiently threatened, maybe. A little cut doesn't bother me, love. I've been carved up like a holiday turkey before, so this is nothing."

~xox~

* * *

Quickly arriving at a similar state of arousal to his tall, mysterious "guest", Grell's eyes locked on the trickle of red dripping down the ancient's pale, slim throat. It was so beautiful...even more so on that alabaster-white skin. Such a perfect contrast...and so inviting. He looked up at the Undertaker's face, admiring the way his pale lips were shaped. Goodness, those eyes just drew him in! Such a thick fringe of snowy-white lashes framing them, too. He'd never seen a man with such thick lashes before—not counting himself, of course. Grell wasn't exactly a man...not in the sense that his male associates were. He had the parts, but he had a womanly heart and soul. Wondering how far he could take it, he started to flick open the buttons of Undertaker's collar, baring more of that lovely, vulnerable white skin.

"So," he purred as he parted the material. "You came to caution me against drawing too much blood when I reap. Why do you care? Do these mortals mean so much to you? I thought you rather enjoyed a gruesome murder."

"I can appreciate the savagery of a good lunatic," agreed the ancient, his smile showing teeth again. "The amount of violence the human body can take before the life expires in it has always fascinated me a bit...but I'm not in love with suffering. I've been trying to understand them for ages, you see. They're peculiar creatures, these mortals."

"And yet you object to my...enthusiasm when I reap them," observed Grell.

He scratched a bloody path down the elder's clavicle, this time using three fingernails. He smiled as the Undertaker hissed and he impulsively put his arms around his narrow waist, leaning closer and rocking up on his tip-toes to press his lips against the warm trickle of flesh blood. He ran his tongue over the cuts, licking away the blood with soft, contented sounds of pleasure. He was so hard...so hot now...and this crazy bit of Shinigami history in his embrace wasn't fighting him. Indeed, he seemed to enjoy it. Grell felt the physical evidence of that pressing against his lower abdomen as their bodies made full-on contact.

How had they ended up like this? He'd gone from being irate at the nerve of this man to wanting to scratch and lick him all over. There was something titillating about having such a handsome, damaged creature willingly at his mercy, and he wondered again what sort of game the Undertaker was playing.

"We are reapers," murmured the Undertaker, "not common murderers."

He stroked Grell's hair and he loosened it from its pins, combing it free with his long black nails. It fell down the smaller reaper's back, and when Grell pulled away to look at his face again, he saw an expression of wonderment on the scarred visage.

"So lovely," whispered the Undertaker, his green-gold eyes traveling the length of Grell's crimson locks. His gaze met the redhead's again. He traced Grell's parted, bloodied lips with the pad of his thumb, still combing the fingers of his other hand through his hair. "If it's blood you need, my dear, use me."

Grell's russet brows furrowed over the frames of his glasses. "I beg your pardon?" The scratches he'd already made were closing rapidly, and soon they would be gone altogether. Reapers didn't retain injuries for long, unless they were caused by a death scythe. Undertaker seemed to heal even faster than usual. Scratches like that would have taken Grell twice as long to heal.

"Your blood addiction," elaborated the ancient. He brushed his thumb back and forth across Grell's lips, smiling at him. "You needn't hide it from the likes of me, love. If you keep venting your bloodlust on mortals, it's going to end badly for you...and probably others, too. Use me, if it'll bring you some measure of relief."

~xox~

* * *

_~Khronos...that was not the plan!~_

The ancient chuckled. His demon almost sounded worried for him—but he knew it was just self-preservation. Chances were if he died, the entity within him would perish as well.

_~You wanted me to put a stop to his bloodletting on mortals. That's what I'm doing. You never specified how I ought to do it, and I'm sure the thought of me in pain gives you some amount of joy.~_

Grell was staring at him with disbelief. "You want me to reap you?"

Undertaker snapped out of his inward conversation with his demon, and he smiled at the redhead. "I didn't say that, now. I said you can cut me. Bring that chainsaw near me and I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

Grell caught his bloodied bottom lip between his teeth, averting his eyes. "You think I have an addiction? Like those pitiful humans with their Opium?"

"Something like that." The Undertaker put his arms around Grell, taking advantage of the moment to embrace him lightly. Just to feel this sort of contact again with someone was a blessing. The redhead felt so good against him, he would gladly put up with a few nicks and scratches, just to have a few moments like this. "You wouldn't be the first, my dear. No need to feel ashamed. It's a hazard of the occupation for some."

~xox~

* * *

Grell listened to him with a quiet sort of desperation, but he kept his guard up. "There have been others?"

Undertaker nodded. "Indeed. But letting yourself go like that will result in corrupt records, and the souls that get reaped so savagely eventually pour their hate, their pain and their desire for revenge into the library. Since we can't have that happening, I'm offering you an alternative. Use more care and kindness when you reap, and I'll offer myself to you whenever you need to satisfy the bloodlust. It's a fairly simple exchange, don't you agree?"

The crimson reaper hesitated, searching his taller companion's eyes. He'd always thought there was nothing but madness in them. A crafty sort of madness, but madness nonetheless. He could appreciate that because nobody could accuse him of sane behavior on a regular basis, but the Undertaker's madness seemed much deeper than his own. As he stared at him, he saw something else in those compelling, ancient eyes that surprised him. Compassion. Not pity, not contempt, but compassion. The Undertaker was actually trying to be kind to him.

"Why?" Grell demanded at once, finding his compassion utterly baffling. "Why would you do this? Don't you know what I could do to you, given half the chance? I tend to kill those who get too close to me, you know."

"Mortals, yes," agreed the mortician calmly. He smiled again. "But I'm not a mortal, am I? As for why..." He shrugged fluidly. "As I said: I'm not in love with suffering. Not yours, and not the mortals you reap."

After staring at him for a moment longer, Grell decided to put him to the test. "I'm not convinced of your sincerity." He resumed unbuttoning the outer layer of his top garments. "I think I should like to have a better look at what you're offering to me, lurker."

Undertaker chuckled, allowing him to loosen his clothes. "If I show you mine, will you show me yours?"

Grell shrugged, fighting a grin. "Perhaps...eventually. A girl can't be _too_ forward, you know. People might talk."

"I would never besmirch your honor," assured the ancient, winking at him.

His voice was really quite charming and seductive, when he wasn't putting on that ridiculous scratchy voice he employed as a mortician. In fact, Grell was finding the Undertaker more charming and sexy by the moment. His hands didn't wander as he held him and he waited patiently as the redhead worked on disrobing him—or at least revealing the top half of his body. As amorous as he tended to be with William and Sebby, they always rejected him and so he felt safe to flirt as much as he liked.

Perhaps his logic was flawed, but he was starting to feel strangely shy. The Undertaker seemed to reciprocate his attraction...which meant something could actually happen between the two of them and Grell wasn't sure quite how he felt about that. As much as he longed for a great romance, he really didn't know that much about this reaper and he was still wary of him. As he steadily peeled away the layers covering the Undertaker's body, his excitement grew in spite of himself.

"I feel like I'm opening a gift," he said with a soft giggle.

The Undertaker grinned back at him. "Happy birthday to you."

The outer robe fell to the floor, leaving only the long, button-down black shirt the mortician wore beneath it. Having already unbuttoned the collar area, Grell was nearly finished unwrapping him. It almost did feel like his birthday, and he blushed again as the Undertaker's lean, toned chest began to peak out at him. The redhead's fingers moved faster in his eagerness. He could see another scar etched diagonally over the ancient's chest, and as he parted the material further and saw his abdomen, Grell spotted another one. The scars weren't unattractive to him, though it was odd to see reaper skin so marred. He traced the one over the chest and he looked up at the Undertaker's face as he got the last button open, leaving his chest and stomach bared.

Grell stood corrected. The Undertaker wasn't a creepy old man—he was a silver hunk. Standing there with his shirt hanging open, his long silver hair falling around his shoulders and those come-hither bedroom eyes, he was certainly swoon-worthy. Add the form-fitting pants and those sensually naughty thigh high boots of his, and the man was a walking advertisement for sin.

Those damnable baser instincts came to a boiling point then, and Grell didn't know which he wanted more; to bleed him or to bed him. "Oh, you are stunning," he announced, running his palms over that tight, pale torso. "Why ever do you hide such a beautiful form, Undertaker?"

"Didn't think I was hiding it," answered the mortician. His hands stroked Grell's back as the redhead leaned in close again. "I'm used to the layers."

"Well, if your generous offer is truly sincere, I think my first rule of our...encounters is that you always visit me shirtless." Grell tugged at the open shirt's sleeve's, urging his companion to pull his arms out of them so that he could pull it off. "Or at least unbuttoned. Oh, you silver fox...I could do things to you that...wait, no. I can't allow my passions to get the better of me!"

He shook himself out of it as the garment fluttered to the floor on top of the robes, leaving the Undertaker nude from the waist up. Grell took a calming breath, wondering what sort of spell this reaper had on him. Just a short while ago, he'd suspected Undertaker of leering at his backside...and now here he was practically throwing himself at him. All of his romantic relationships were volatile, though. That seemed to be the norm for Grell. He looked into the taller man's eyes, and a strangely gentle expression came over the Undertaker's face.

"Go ahead, love."

Grell's lips parted in wonderment. What he was offering took a substantial amount of trust...or bravery...or just plain insanity. "What has the world done to you?"

Undertaker smirked briefly. "Taught me more things than I ever wanted to know. It's all right, my dear. I won't stop you."

Breathing heavily now, Grell struggled with himself. Heavens, could he? Could he appease his blood lust without going too far, and would that bloodlust drive him to act on his carnal lust too? The thought of pushing the Undertaker down onto the bed, tearing off his robe and taking him deep inside was looming large in his mind. He believed the ancient would let him; he might even decide to take over and ravish Grell until he was a panting, sweaty wreck. The redhead moaned at the nosebleed-inducing notion, and he dragged his sharp red nails over that fine, pale torso to open up more bleeding cuts. Undertaker grimaced slightly, but that gentle look of invitation remained on his face and his smile returned immediately. Nobody had ever offered themselves to Grell this way before...it was all too much.

"Undertaker," he whimpered as the droplets of red glistened in the soft lamplight. He pushed the taller man against the wall and he cupped the back of his head, drawing his mouth down to his for a kiss.

~xox~

* * *

_~This is a travesty to us, _complained the entity made up of collective souls as its carrier kissed the bloodshedder back with enthusiasm. _~This creature is volatile, Khronos. It has no boundaries and it cannot be trusted!~_

The Undertaker ignored the complaints, tasting his own blood on Grell's lips as he kissed him. The way he'd called his name so desperately just before demanding his lips awakened something within him that he'd thought long gone. He'd been curious about Grell before and indeed interested in him, but the passion he felt when that hungry, eager mouth met his shook him. He breathed deeply through his nose and deepened the kiss, holding the smaller reaper close. Grell bit down on his tongue just enough to make it bleed as the Undertaker sought entry to his mouth with it. The sting did nothing to diminish the desire he felt, and a low sound of answering need reverberated in his throat.

Grell moaned in response, his fingers tangling into the taller man's silver hair as the Undertaker cupped his bottom and lifted him up. Their tongues fenced, caressed and thrust together as the heat of the moment overpowered them both. Grell's legs wrapped around the Undertaker's waist as he was lifted up, and he pulled his mouth away to shower frantic little kisses all over Undertaker's jaw and throat.

"I could devour you," moaned the redhead huskily. He bit down on his neck, hard enough to make blood spurt.

That one certainly hurt, and the mortician realized it might be prudent to try and calm his fiery companion a bit. He carried him over to the bed and lay him down onto it, but he didn't commence with taking him as he so sorely wanted. Instead, he pinned him down and looked down at him, breathing heavily with pent-up need. He bled on the squirming redhead as he tried to get through to him, little droplets of crimson falling from the bite marks on his neck.

"My offer won't be much good to you if I bleed enough to pass out, my dear. Well, not if you prefer me awake, that is."

Panting softly, Grell seemed to come to his senses somewhat. His rosy blush of passion was so lovely and distracting on his fair face that the Undertaker almost missed his response. "Would you make love to me, if I asked it of you?" He wriggled beneath him restlessly, biting his lower lip with delight at the intimate contact and restraint. "So forceful...so strong! Oh, Undertaker!"

"Goodness, you are an excitable one," approved the ancient with a wide grin. "I really didn't expect such a request, love."

Grell looked up at him with lustful eyes. "Would you, though? If I asked?"

Realizing he wasn't necessarily asking him to make love to him _right now_, Undertaker wondered what the motive behind this unpredictable reaper's question was. Was he teasing him? "I would delight in making love to you, little rose," he answered honestly, "if I thought that was what you really wanted."

He braced himself, unsure of how his answer would be received. The smile that lit up Grell's eyes made him blink, and he loosened his hold on him in his enchantment. Suddenly the redhead bucked him off and rolled over with him, straddling his waist and pushing against his chest to keep him from rising.

"You dear, lovely madman," breathed the crimson reaper. "I'll take your offer, but I wish to know one more thing, before this goes on."

"Anything you like," agreed the Undertaker. His hands settled on the smooth, silken thighs that were now exposed, and he marveled over how soft the skin was. He rubbed his palms sensually up and down Grell's legs, keeping his touch from wandering too far even though his hands itched to squeeze that firm little bottom again.

"Would you be making love to me because you want me, or simply because I asked you to?"

"Oh," said the mortician, "I'd have to say both. If you doubt I want you, grind a little further south and feel how happy 'little Undertaker' is right now."

Grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream, Grell took his advice. Undertaker suppressed a groan as the redhead's equally swollen parts rubbed against his own through the barrier of pants and bathrobe. "There now, you see? The bulge can't lie."

Grell giggled. "Hmm, I'm so very tempted to collect on that...but I wouldn't want you to think I'm overly promiscuous."

"I'm more inclined to think you're a tease, my dear," grunted the mortician as the outrageous redhead undulated suggestively on top of him.

Grell's expression softened. "Consider it a promise, then. Prove your sincerity and earn my trust, old codger." The last was said with a hint of fondness, and he smiled down at him.

"Challenge accepted, then."

The Undertaker skimmed his nails over the soft inner thighs of the reaper straddling him, and he grinned when the action provoked a shiver. Grell lowered himself down on him and he kissed him. The sting from the earlier bites to his tongue and neck was gone, and Undertaker kissed him back with sensual passion. He arched his back and groaned a little as Grell carved another line of scratches along his ribcage, but he didn't complain otherwise. The redhead kissed his way down to lick it up.

Undertaker stroked his hair and kept his breathing steady as Grell opened up fresh cuts to replace the old, lapping up the blood with contented little sounds that the ancient found endearing. He relaxed as best he could and he looked down at his companion, watching as he striped his already scarred torso with little cuts, over and over again. He was surprisingly tidy with it, never allowing the blood to drip and stain the bedding. He grinned when Grell smeared some of it in the shape of a heart around his navel, before kissing and licking it away.

"I have to say, this is the nicest way anyone's ever abused me," joked the Undertaker. The sensation of Grell's lips closing around his right nipple shut him up, and he tensed involuntarily in expectation of a bite. When Grell only gently sucked and licked it, he relaxed and closed his eyes with pleasure. The redhead tweaked the other one with his fingers as he played, rewarding Undertaker for his cooperation with tingling sensations. Breath quickening again as he kept going, the mortician's eyes fluttered open again and he rubbed against Grell's leg, trying to ease the ache between his thighs.

At least the demon was mercifully quiet again...probably too scandalized by what they were doing to stay around and lecture him. He felt the entity go dormant again and he smiled, sighing with relief.

~xox~

* * *

Grell took his time with it, alternating between slaking his bloodlust and pleasuring the Undertaker as a reward. He completely lost track of time, savoring every moment of it. There was an interesting flavor to Undertaker's blood that he'd never encountered before. It was almost sweeter than it was salty, and he found it delightful. He wasn't ordinarily a drinker, but licking away the hurts he caused was so erotic, and the mortician made the most sensual noises when he did it.

Undertaker didn't make him feel perverted or depraved for his unusual fetish, and he was utterly fearless. Oh, he made him back off when he got too aggressive with it, but otherwise the ancient just caressed him and encouraged him to do as he wished. By the time Grell was sated, it was well after midnight and the Undertaker was looking a bit paler than usual—almost looking as though he were made of marble.

"Have I taken too much from you, darling?" asked the redhead, stretching out on top of him to kiss his lips tenderly.

"Not at all," assured the mortician with a sigh. He stroked a hand down Grell's back. "I would let you know if it was too much, lovely."

With a little sigh of contentment he'd not felt in a very long time, Grell scooted down to lay his head on the older reaper's bare chest. All of the cuts were gone now, the skin smooth and unmarred but for the twisting scars striping his body. "Did a death scythe cause all of these?" wondered Grell aloud as he traced the one on his stomach gently. He felt no urge to dig his nails in, wanting only to caress and kiss his companion for his generosity. He felt liberated...even a little stronger.

"No, it wasn't a death scythe."

Grell frowned and lifted his head off his chest to look at him. "Then what? There isn't much in creation that could cause that sort of scarring to a reaper's body, besides our own scythes."

"Not much," agreed the Undertaker with a rueful little smirk, "but it's out there, love."

Grell sighed and pouted. "So you won't tell me?"

"Eventually, perhaps. Just be patient, my dear. I have boundaries of my own, funny as that might seem."

Grell shrugged. It was fair enough. He couldn't ask the Undertaker to earn his trust and not expect to do the same in return. He gazed into his eyes, admiring them once more. "I could just drown in those eyes," he sighed dreamily. "I wish you wouldn't hide them all the time."

Undertaker grinned and hugged him. "Not all the time; just in the presence of mortals. I work in their world now, and it's better that they don't see my eyes and start asking questions about my nature."

That made perfect sense. Grell masked his natural eyes from mortal sight when he spent a significant amount of time amongst them too, making them appear an ordinary, human hazel shade.

"You will...come back again, won't you?" asked Grell, lowering his gaze in a sudden burst of uncertainty. "Or let me visit you?"

"I made a bargain with you, love." Undertaker cupped his chin and urged him to look at him. "You can visit anytime you feel the urge...and even when you don't, if you want. In fact, I'd like it if you came by now and then just to visit."

Common sense warned Grell not to start falling for this man, but his stupid heart was already one step ahead and pounding fiercely. Crude one moment, sweet and romantic the next...he couldn't understand him.

"You are a very strange reaper," he sighed.

Undertaker laughed softly. "You aren't exactly common, yourself. I've known moody reapers before, Miss Sutcliff, but you keep me on my toes more than any of them ever did."

"If I were predictable, I wouldn't be nearly as alluring," reasoned Grell with a chuckle of his own. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'd still find you quite alluring," countered the older reaper. "You wouldn't be as entertaining, though."

The redhead smirked and lay his head back down on Undertaker's chest, tracing little patterns on his abdomen with his fingertips. He felt safe. He still desired intimacy of the carnal sort with this reaper. He could feel the evidence of Undertaker's reciprocal desire pressing intimately against his thigh through the pants he still wore, but he knew the ancient wouldn't try anything without a clear signal from him. How very strange, that someone so unapologetically improper at times could be such a...gentleman.

He noticed the change in the Undertaker's breathing pattern and he lifted his head to look at him again. He was asleep. His hand still rested on Grell's back in an oddly protective, comforting manner, and his lips were parted and relaxed. Grell watched him for a while, admiring his unique bone structure and soft hair. When he got his fill of admiring him, he took his glasses off and set them on the bedside table for safe keeping.

He still didn't know enough about the eccentric mortician to trust him just yet, and it wasn't in Grell's nature to allow personal attachment to slow him down or rule his heart. He'd killed his beloved Madam Red, after all. It wasn't like he really _needed_ anyone in his life. But this man had done for him what nobody else would have dared. Grell's resolve wavered as he gazed upon his sleeping features, and he weighed the risks versus the rewards. He could begin to need the Undertaker in his life, if he wasn't careful.

~xox~

* * *

Undertaker woke before Grell, unused to sleeping on a bed instead of in a coffin. He blinked and frowned against the morning light coming in through the window—which was still open from his arrival the evening before. He turned his head away from it and he saw Grell lying beside him, with his bathrobe bunched up and hanging partway open at the chest. The sight brought back memories of their night together, and a smile grew on the mortician's lips. Grell was lying on his side with one leg hiked up and his hands folded beneath his cheek. He looked utterly content in his sleep, and the temptation to kiss him was strong.

Undertaker allowed himself one, brief liberty. He gently ran his palm over the bare length of Grell's exposed leg, admiring the shape of it and the smooth skin. The redhead stirred slightly in his sleep, appearing to try and burrow deeper into his robe. Undertaker tugged the sheets up over him to tuck him in, and he gingerly sat up. He put a hand to his forehead, feeling a little light-headed. He'd allowed Grell to bleed him a bit more than he probably should have, but the pact he'd made with him had appeased the demon and put it back to sleep.

His grin returned as he looked back down at the lovely creature slumbering beside him. He also had someone living to spend time with now, besides Lawrence. He enjoyed his old friend's visits whenever he could get away to come and see him, but that was pleasurable company of an entirely different sort. He enjoyed looking at Grell, hearing his laugh and trying to guess what he was going to say or do next. The kissing and caressing had been more than lovely, too...though he felt some anxiety at the thought of actually doing more. He hadn't satisfied his sexual urges with another person for a very long time.

"Sleep well, Miss Sutcliff," he whispered to the redhead.

He got out of bed carefully; both so as not to wake his companion and to avoid falling over. He went over to his discarded garments and put them back on quietly. Looking back at the bed, he debated whether he should just leave or wake Grell to let him know he was going. He looked so peaceful though...he was loathe to disturb his rest. He looked around for ideas, and he spotted some stationary and a pen on the little desk by the window.

"Perfect."

~xox~

* * *

Grell awoke to the phone ringing—not the human manufactured one in his hotel room, but his portable Dispatch phone. He complained about it at first, until he happened to lift his head and see the time on the desk clock.

"Oh, no...Will is going to have my hide!" He dove for the phone, resting on the bedside table. He knocked his glasses off in the process, along with a slip of paper that was resting beneath them. Swearing fitfully, he brought the phone to his ear while dropping over the side of the bed to pick up his glasses.

"Hello?" he said into the phone, slipping the spectacles on hastily.

"You are twenty minutes late to work, you have files to report and turn in, and you have not seen fit to inform anyone that you would be tardy."

Grell cringed at the ice in William's tone. "Will, I promise I was on my way in! I...was having trouble with my hair, you see, and—"

"I really don't care about your hair," interrupted the supervisor. "If you don't wish probation again, you will make all haste to your office and work extra hard to provide a glowing report of your assignments. You cannot afford further marks against you, Grell Sutcliff."

The redhead sighed. "I'll be there as quickly as possible."

"See that you do."

William hung up, leaving Grell half-hanging off the edge of the bed with his glasses askew and the phone to his ear. The redhead groaned and dropped his head, letting his long crimson hair dangle to the floor. He saw the slip of stationary and he frowned, reaching for it. He picked it up and squinted at the spidery scrawl on it.

_"Dearest Grell,_

_I needed to open shop early this morning, so I left you resting sweetly where you were and thought better than to wake you. Don't forget our bargain and remember, you can call on me anytime, whenever you need. I look forward to it._

_-Undertaker_"

He remembered the night before, and Grell's face heated. Passion, pleasure, tenderness...it had been a fabulous encounter, and he recalled vividly the bargain he had made with the mortician. He didn't really have to keep it, but it might save his career if he did, and...and he liked the way the man had made him feel. He sat back up, holding the note in his hand, and he started to ball it up and toss it in the wastepaper basket. He changed his mind, and he found himself instead folding it carefully to put away in his vest.

"Perhaps one more visit," he mused, "to see if this can actually work, of course."

He felt a bit giddy, like a maiden being courted by a particularly fine gentleman. He never would have likened the mortician to a "fine gentleman" before, but he'd seen a side to him last night that changed his mind.

He dressed and primped as quickly as he could, feeling refreshed and energized despite the impending lecture he was sure to receive from William. His eyes even seemed brighter to him as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, and he smiled in satisfaction. Humming a romantic tune to himself, Grell made sure he didn't leave anything behind and he left the room to check out and go to work.

~xox~

* * *

-The End


End file.
